


Stop Telling Your Queen To Go To Therapy: A Bulletin (to Stukov, Specifically)

by Tanadin



Category: StarCraft (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Multi, Rating for the usual violence some extra swearing and probably some sex jokes, also i decided that stukov and kerrigan should be friends no i'm not taking questions at this time, despite this being overall a light-hearted fic there is also some frank discussion of trauma, its gonna be awhile before we make use of that jim/sarah tag im sorry to say, no amon no prophecy we die like zerglings, other relationships may appear but i'm not sure yet so tags will evolve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanadin/pseuds/Tanadin
Summary: What if there was no prophecy about Kerrigan needing to stop Amon from destroying all of existence? What if his resurrection was successfully stopped, there was no Dark God around to wreck shop and give the Zerg something to do after the Heart of the Swarm campaign?This is what if.Sarah Kerrigan leads the Swarm aimlessly, trying to find herself in the mess that's been made of her in the aftermath of four or more years of zerg-related trauma. Alexei Stukov tries to help via increasingly elaborate attempts to get her to see a professional. The Swarm finds itself lost and confused by its queen's strange antics and lack of drive. The crew of the Hyperion are terrorized continually by a class twelve psionic sneaking on board to use their printer and steal their staples. Jim Raynor avoids his problems as deftly as the Queen of Blades ignores hers.A humorous glimpse into the lives of StarCraft characters in a universe where the author shakes canon down for spare change, queer characters, and female agency, all while addressing trauma in a hopefully meaningful way.
Relationships: Sarah Kerrigan & Alexei Stukov, Sarah Kerrigan/Jim Raynor
Comments: 32
Kudos: 42





	1. In Which the Queen of Blades Gets Pants

“Stukov,” says Kerrigan.

“Yes?” asks Stukov.

“What the _hell_ is this.”

“It is a list of contact information. I thought this was made obvious by the title and formatting.”

“And what, exactly, is this titled?”

“I thought you could read in the language we are speaking. My apologies.”

“Alexei Stukov. Are you trying to send me to _therapy?”_

“Perhaps.”

“I am the Queen of Blades.”

“You are a very sad and very lonely woman with a lot of trauma to work through. That is what you are.”

Kerrigan crosses her arms and folds her wings tightly in displeasure. She affixes him with one of her patented You Need To Fuck Off glares, one that would send even Jim running, but Stukov seems unfazed.

“I don’t _need_ your help,” she says, finally.

“No. Of course not. You are perfectly happy and content to sit on a leviathan with a bunch of Zerg who do not understand you forever. My mistake.”

“Stukov.”

“And I am not even helping you that much. It is a professional that would be helping you.”

“I’m going to send you out into space.”

“Do that, and with our luck, I’ll be perfectly fine until Stettman finds me and puts me in a test tube, at which point I will need to be assisted in my escape. I really do not know how this keeps happening to me.”

“Maybe _you_ need help,” she mutters, picking the tablet back up and closing out of the message he’d sent her.

“Yes. Where do you think I got the list? I cannot simply reach out into the ether and obtain information as you do.”

“I don’t—”

“That is how it looks to the rest of us, you know.”

Kerrigan sighs. “Listen. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I _don’t need it._ Mengsk is _dead._ He has been for a month. All of my problems are solved.”

“That is not true.”

“It’s not, but it’s better if I pretend that it is.”

“You—”

“It’s what I’ve always done, Stukov. And I don’t want to talk about this any more than I already have.” She jams the tablet into her bag and turns to head up one of the hallways to the room she’s made into her quarters.

“Very well, but do you think we could contact the Hyperion soon?”

“The Hyperion?” She turns back around. “Why?”

“They’re the only terrans I can think of that would not shoot us on sight. I think we could both use some new clothes. Or, in your case, clothes at all.”

Kerrigan looks down at herself. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have been wearing _this_ off-and-on since I got infested, and I would prefer to have other choices. You have spent four or more years as a carapaced nudist.”

“I have _not—”_

“Then what do you call this, hm?” He motions at her.

“Zerg—I don’t—I don’t hear you getting on _Zagara’s_ ass about her lacking clothing!”

“Where would you put the pants on a brood mother? I don’t think you could.”

“Dehaka, then!”

“Kerrigan, they are Zerg. They have always been Zerg. You and I were once human, and my point is that it is a little strange to be spending time with what I consider to be someone much like myself—a human turned Zerg—who is completely naked.”

Kerrigan looks at him. She looks at herself. She looks at him.

“I _guess_ I could use the pockets.”

Stukov grins in victory.

—

“Abathur, what the hell is wrong with Stukov?”

Abathur clicks his claws together as he looks Kerrigan over. At least, she thinks that’s what he’s doing. It’s kind of hard to tell where he’s looking. “Query unclear.”

“Why does he keep bothering me and insisting that I’m not fine? Do I _look_ like I’m not fine?”

“Leftover component of original terran origin: care for others. Terrans highly social and empathetic. Could attempt to remove. Sequences spun tightly. May take time.”

“No, no. You don’t need to change anything about him.” Kerrigan sighs and sits down on one of the ridges that she’s taken to using as benches. A zergling barrels up to her like an oversized hairless dog and shoves its head into her lap. She pets it and scratches at one of the softer bits of flesh on its head, behind a firmer piece of carapace, and its back leg starts twitching and pawing at the ground.

“Uncertain what Queen of Blades wants.”

“Answers, I suppose. Why does he think I’m not okay?”

“Queen of Blades rejoined Swarm, had goal. Swarm served Queen. Completed goal, has done nothing since. Queen has no clear goal, Swarm has no clear goal. Queen seems listless to organism Stukov. Reassure with goal.”

Kerrigan taps her foot, scratching the zergling a little harder. “I don’t have a goal after this, Abathur.”

“Worrying. Consider expansion of Swarm to dominate galaxy.”

“I don’t want to dominate the galaxy.”

“Safest for Swarm to eliminate all threats.”

“I’m not going to do that, Abathur.”

“Swarm will always be in danger. But. Swarm follows Queen. Do not know Swarm’s goal now.”

“I’ll be sure to tell you once I know.”

Abathur clicks his claws a few times, stingers twitching.

“If I didn’t know better, Abathur, I’d say that you were perturbed.”

“Lack of direction unsettling.”

“I know. I feel it too.” Kerrigan gets to her feet, making the zergling whine. She pats it on the head before moving away. “I’ll see what I can think of. You’ll be happier when you’re put to work again, I’m sure.”

“Fulfilling purpose good.”

“How nice it must be to have one,” Kerrigan mutters as she steps away. “How simple to follow what someone else wants you to do, with no belief that they’ll ever turn on you. What a concept, huh?”

—

“Kerrigan! I have brought you clothes, and I hope they fit you, because Abathur was frustratingly unhelpful on sizing!”

Kerrigan cracks an eye open and stares at the big fleshy chamber that she’s taken to calling her bedroom. She considers ignoring Stukov, but he knocks at the ‘door,’ which is pretty much just two pieces of chitin pressed together that can be pulled apart or opened by a weak psionic push. Stukov’s the only one on board who struggles with the doors, and Kerrigan finds herself grateful for that.

“I know that you’re in there!”

“For fuck’s sake, Stukov, _what?”_ She sits up and swings her legs off the bed.

“I have brought you clothing!”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Then why did you ask me to repeat myself?”

“I—fuck it, nevermind. Why do you feel the need to wake me up?”

“Time isn’t real in space, my _queen_ , and I was very excited. May I come in?”

“Fine.” She stands, stretching as Stukov struggles with the door. Normally, she’d help him, but she’s feeling spiteful, so she lets him pry it open and stumble through. He’s in a different outfit, one with a lot of white and some blue and that is _not_ going to stay clean on the inside of a giant zerg but that’s _his_ problem, and has a lot of clothing folded over his right arm, pressed to his chest to keep it from falling as he manages to finally get into the room.

“I brought you four separate outfits. They’re all quite practical. You may need to cut holes for your wings or various spines, though. I did not want to try to modify them on my own.”

“You can modify clothes?”

“No. That is why I said I did not want to try.”

Kerrigan sighs and crosses her arms. “Do they have pockets?”

“What kind of protoss do you take me for? Of course they have pockets. As many pockets as I could find.”

“Good. They’d better.”

—

“My queen,” Zagara says, hesitantly, “what… is that that you have on you?”

“They’re called jeans, Zagara. Terrans wear them on their legs.”

“For what purpose?”

“Protection, to an extent, although not from anything dangerous. They’re for decency, mostly. It’s not really necessary for Zerg, but _someone_ insisted that I get some.” Kerrigan shoots Stukov a look.

He grins and gives her a thumbs-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I get something wrong/different from canon, either that was intentional or whoops. I just can't remember everything, and haven't engaged with every canon source (including the first game for a handful of years), so. I'm gonna get some shit wrong. Just consider it part of being canon divergent and leave it at that. :p
> 
> Anyway, we're here to have fun, see everyone work their shit out, and realize that the zerg are just a big dysfunctional family. I can't be stopped.


	2. In Which the Queen of Blades Enacts a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that gives the fic its name. Also featuring Kerrigan nearly having a breakdown because someone cares about her, and the crew of a certain battlecruiser.

Several days, as near as Kerrigan can figure, after what she refers to as The Stukov T-Shirt Cannon Incident ( _fuck_ she wishes he’d actually had a t-shirt cannon), she finds a piece of shed roach carapace on the floor of her room, seemingly slid under the door at some point while she was sleeping. She picks it up and looks it over, finding Terran writing carved on it in the clumsy lettering of someone who’s never carved anything before.

It’s the fucking therapist contact list.

Okay, so maybe she thought about Jim too much yesterday and had to leave mid-conversation with Stukov and Zagara to go lie down in her room for twelve hours. So fucking what? Everyone does that. She doesn’t need any fucking stranger telling her that she has childhood trauma and repressed guilt about fourteen billion things and that she misses Jim. She fucking knows that.

She tosses the carapace aside, flings open the door with her psionic powers, and stalks out. She turns right back around to put on a shirt and get her bag, which contains her tablet, and _then_ stalks out, glad that no one saw that. She pulls her tablet out of her bag as she goes, idly closing the door behind her and tabbing over to her email.

Dammit, he sent it to her again. She deletes both copies and empties the trash. Nothing else new, so she puts the tablet back in her bag and makes her way to go get some breakfast.

They really need to get planetside. She’s sick of living on this fucking leviathan.

Unfortunately, either Stukov’s circadian rhythm has changed to match hers, or he’s been waiting for her to show up, because he sits down right next to her when she’s just trying to eat something unrecognizable that she pretends is oatmeal.

“Good morning, Kerrigan.”

“What happened to time not being real in space, Stukov?”

“It is the polite greeting for when someone just gets up and you see them for the first time in a day. Should I salute you instead?”

“Do that and I’ll pop one of your zerg claws off and send it skittering around the leviathan.”

“Noted. I will not do that unless I desire fewer limbs.”

She sighs. “What do you want, Stukov?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend time with one of the only sentient people on this ship, particularly the only other one who wasn’t always zerg?”

“You _want_ something.” Kerrigan looks at him and squints, reading his surface thoughts. “Yes I got your email, yes I got your zerg carapace, no I’m not going to therapy.”

“I just think—”

“Skip it. I don’t need help.”

“You—”

“I said _no,_ Stukov.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You are immensely stubborn.”

“Got me this far, didn’t it?”

“Ye-es, but it is obstructing you from going further.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not going to start harming me now when it never has before.”

“I believe that is debatable.”

“Skip it. Did you want anything else, or are you just here to pester me?”

Stukov looks a little offended. Kerrigan would normally feel bad, but she’s annoyed with him, so she doesn’t. “I did actually just want to talk with you. See how you’re doing. Figure out what your plans are.”

She gives him a suspicious look.

“In a normal friendly way, not just in a I-think-you-need-therapy way.”

She scans his mind. It’s the truth, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. “Fine.”

He settles in. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“How _are_ you doing? What _are_ your plans?”

“I’m doing fine. My plans involve eating breakfast and figuring out which planet to go land on for awhile. If I don’t see a plant soon I’m going to crack and start making Abathur spin me up a hydralisk that can garden.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Very.”

“Are you taking planet suggestions?”

“Why, you have somewhere in mind?”

“I’ve heard that Zerus is nice this time of year.”

She frowns. “Zerus? What the hell could you want to go to Zerus for?”

“I told you, I think it’s nice this time of year. And I’ve never been. Besides, Dehaka might enjoy seeing home for awhile. Hunt some essence, recruit new packmates, that kind of thing.”

“...You have an ulterior motive. I can feel it.”

“No,” Stukov says immediately, and she delves into his mind just fast enough to detect him shoving that thought deep, deep enough that she can’t go find it without invading more than his surface thoughts, which she’s not a fan of. 

“You’re _lying_ to me. What is it?”

“Ah-ah, no cheating. Come on, now. Let’s pretend that you don’t have psionic powers and that I don’t have my own reasons for wanting to go.”

Kerrigan sighs and sets down her spoon. “Fine. I’ll consider Zerus.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it.”

—

“Queen of Blades wearing unsafe combat inhibitors.”

“Abathur, do you—what?” Kerrigan stops mid-step on her way into the Evolution Pit, recoiling a little and blinking.

Abathur indicates her whole body with his hands. “Fabrics do nothing to protect or aid Queen of Blades in any way. In combat, could snag. Get caught. Slow down. Precious seconds lost in getting free. Advise immediate removal.”

“Abathur,” Kerrigan says, amused, “are you telling me to strip?”

“Query unclear.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, Abathur. I won’t wear it in combat.”

“See no purpose to wearing now.”

Kerrigan shoves her hands in her pockets, showing that they go up past her wrists. Abathur leans closer to look.

“Can see now.”

“Exactly. Stukov was right about _that_ , at least.”

“Organism Stukov right about other things also. Queen of Blades needs new purpose. Needs fulfilment. Should seek others to address problems causing inability to make decisions, create goals.”

Kerrigan’s jaw drops and she _stares_ at Abathur for several seconds before bursting out with, “Not you too!”

“Unclear.”

“He did _not_ convince you to tell me to go to therapy. No. No way.”

“Queen of Blades spends time inefficiently considering problems without attempts to solve. Swarm cannot solve internal problems. Could remove. Do not think would be approved.”

“Keep your hands off of me.”

“Swarm cannot solve internal problems. Seek external solution. Organism Stukov proposed solution. Advise attempting proposed solution immediately.”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this!” Kerrigan leans against the wall and tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling, running her fingers through her ‘hair.’ She splays her wings against the wall and lets out a mirthless laugh. “This is completely fucking unbelievable! He’s turning my zerg against me!”

“Queen’s best interests in mind.”

“Oh, yeah, you’d sure fucking think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Unclear.”

Kerrigan lets out a frustrated screech. “Abso-fucking-lutely unbelievable. Holy shit. What the hell.” She removes herself from the wall and points an accusing finger at Abathur. “Don’t tell me to get therapy again.”

“Said no such thing.”

“Fuck, he’s teaching you _sass_ now? That man needs to be stopped.” She spins on her heel and bolts towards the door.

“Queen did not achieve purpose down here. What was purpose?”

“Fuck my purpose, I have to make sure he didn’t get to Zagara!” Kerrigan tears out of the Evolution Pit at top speed, flaring her wings and speeding herself along with psionic energy. She nearly crashes into a hydralisk on her way up to the nerve center, barely spinning out of the way and clipping it with the edge of her wing. She flings the door open and jumps through it, landing in a roll and jumping to her feet right in front of Zagara, who recoils with a feral hiss.

“My queen, what—”

“Don’t tell me he got to you, too! _Please_ tell me I have _an_ ally on this ship!”

Zagara blinks several times and taps her claws on her carapace. If she knew how to say ‘um,’ Kerrigan is _certain_ she would.

“What?” Zagara says, finally, and in that moment, Kerrigan knows that she’s gotten a zerg to be as human as she’ll ever manage.

“Stukov. Don’t tell me that he’d convinced you that I need to go to therapy.”

Zagara chitters a little. “Well.”

Kerrigan recoils. _“No.”_

“You have seem… preoccupied, as of late, and have not been leading the Swarm—”

“I can’t fucking believe this!” She spins around. “Izsha, please.”

“Yes, my queen?”

“Has Stukov been talking to you?”

“Yes, my queen. He has said that you are distressed due to—”

Kerrigan screeches and flings herself from the room.

—

“You’re a fucking menace.”

Stukov looks up from his tablet innocently. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Kerrigan stalks up to him and shoves an accusing finger in his face. “You’re turning my subordinates against me.”

“Sarah, I would hardly call asking our _friends_ to help me convince you to take care of yourself _turning your subordinates against you.”_

“One, don’t call me Sarah. Two, we are not friends. Three, you are not friends with the other zerg. Four, _I_ am not friends with the other zerg. Five, that’s what it fucking is.”

He affixes her with the most exhausted look she’s ever seen on him. “You are being overdramatic. Besides, I did not ask them to speak with you. I just convinced them that it would be best for you, because they noticed that I was worried and wanted to know why.”

“Abathur would never have noticed that in a million years, you liar.”

“Ah-ah, he noticed my pacing. Hours and hours of pacing.”

“You’ve been _pacing?”_

“It’s what I do when I worry about someone.”

“Wait wait wait.” Kerrigan makes a ‘stop’ motion. “You’ve been _actually_ worried? Like, on a personal level? Not just on a ‘oh this stranger is having a problem, I hope they’re okay’ level?”

“Obviously?”

She blinks.

“People care about you, Sarah Kerrigan. You have a hard time realizing that, probably because you are used to being used like a weapon.” He stands up. “Hence the therapy.”

She’s too stunned to react as he pats her on the shoulder and strolls out.

She’s floored, both by someone actually giving a shit about her and by the sheer _audacity_ that he’s had lately. She sits down and reaches for his mind, to try to read his surface thoughts to see what he’s thinking, and she learns that not only is he genuine, but that he’s intending to up the ante in trying to convince her, and—

Oh, _that’s_ why he wanted to go to Zerus. Oh, that dick.

Fine. She leans back, looking up at the ceiling momentarily, and shakes out her wings.

She considers not going. She was planning to—she was even going to ask Abathur if he could use more primal zerg samples. She’s not sure if going would play into Stukov’s plans, but as she rolls that over in her mind a few times, she thinks of a way to turn it against him.

Kerrigan grins. Oh, it feels good to have an opponent again. 

“Let’s see him try to wiggle out of this one.”

She psionically reaches out to the leviathan, and directs it towards Zerus, and the ship currently in orbit.

—

“Well,” Stukov says later, looking at the product of her idea, “that’s one way to express her displeasure. It is a shame she does not want help. I wonder, though… where did she get the materials?”

—

“Sir! _Sir!”_ Someone rams into the door, slamming it open. “Sir, we just had a class twelve psionic reading on the ship!”

Raynor just about leaps out of his skin as he scrambles to his feet, dropping his tablet and not particularly giving a shit. _“What?_ How did the sensors—”

“They did, but the alarm--someone shut it off!”

“Dammit, Matt, how’d they shut off the alarm?”

“I don’t know, sir, but the being appeared on the ship twenty-three minutes ago and departed six minutes ago.”

“What were they _doing_ here? What the _hell_ has a reading that high, other than—” He cuts himself off, excusing it with a cough as he grabs his gun.

“I’m not sure, sir. I have people going through the system logs to find any unusual activity. So far we’ve found that cameras were cut down in the computer labs.”

“The computer labs? What the hell would someone want down there? Were they accessing data?”

“I’m not sure, sir.” Horner starts leading him to the bridge. “Hopefully we’ll find out.”

They make it to the bridge in record time. Horner opens up a screen and gets scrolling while Raynor helpfully paces. They do this for several minutes, until Horner pipes up, “Uh, sir?”

“Yeah?”

“It looks like they used your login on one of the computers and…” He frowns. “That can’t be right.”

“What is it, Matt?”

“They… used our printer?”

Raynor blinks. “Our _printer?”_

“Yes, sir. Something with a class twelve psionic reading turned off our alarms, transported onto the ship, logged into one of the lab computers, and printed out a document before turning off the computer and leaving.” He looks as confused as Raynor feels, and it only gets worse when he adds, “One of our nail guns is also missing.”

“What the fuck,” Raynor manages. “What did they _print?”_

“Let me see.” Horner tabs around a bit before pulling up the document. “Uh, this, sir.”

Raynor leans over his shoulder to get a look.

**STOP:**

-Telling me to go to therapy

-Sending me lists of contact information for therapists

-Hinting that I have trauma that I’m not dealing with

-Telling me that you’re worried about my mental health

**THIS MEANS** **_YOU!_ **

_FUCK OFF!_

I am fine! Shut up!

This is an order from the Queen of Blades! 

“What the fuck,” Raynor says eventually.

“There’s a leviathan on the other side of the planet, sir,” Horner adds helpfully.

“Kerrigan,” Raynor groans, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, “what the _hell_ are you up to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious, the basics of my Kerrigan redesign is as follows:  
> -more carapace coverage, eg. no vacuum-sealed zerg butt/breasts because I always thought that was dumb and weird  
> -actual digitigrade leg structure/clawed feet instead of the really really stupid BUILT-IN ZERG HIGH HEELS. BLIZZARD THIS WAS THE COLDEST TAKE OF ALL OF THE COLD TAKES IN HER DESIGN  
> -wings attach at her shoulders, not at her?? lower back?? why were they attached there  
> -wings actually have membrane now, YES I know she flies with her psionic powers NO I don't care and YES I think it looks cooler this way, give me Kerrigan doing more cool physical things  
> -potentially a tail? I feel like she deserves one and I always think that she looks really naked when viewed from behind. It can make up for the reduced weaponization of the wings once they have membrane and helps deal with the "well what do we put back there if we can't oversexualize her" problem that Blizzard seems to have. if you don't like this one feel free to ignore it, I doubt it'll come up much
> 
> Overall it doesn't... really matter.... as this isn't an image-based medium, so you can kind of imagine Kerrigan however you want, but that's basically what I've changed about her in case you wanted to get the same mental image I have.
> 
> Anyway, AO3 won't let me make the text on the printout really big, so it kind of loses half of the effect it had in the draft. Oh well. Just imagine it with varying text sizes and the occasional font change.


	3. In Which the Queen of Blades Goes to the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got 95% written, I had midterms and two papers, and I just now finished the last 5%. Sorry about that! I think the chapter's well worth it, though, because we get to see Kerrigan's beach outfit and I think that's hilarious. Also Abathur... has fun? (??? Maybe?)

“Are you alright, my queen?” Zagara asks, leaning over Kerrigan and blocking her light.

Kerrigan squints and tries to lean around her. “I’m fine, Zagara. Please move.”

Zagara skitters out of the way. “You have been lying there for half an hour. I wished to ensure that you were alright. Zerus is filled with primal zerg who would not hesitate to kill you to take your essence. You shouldn’t be sleeping out here.”

“I’m not sleeping. I’m sunbathing. You know, like a lizard.”

“Like a what, my queen?”

“Forget it. I’m relaxing.”

“In the wilds of Zerus?”

“On a  _ beach _ of Zerus,” Kerrigan corrects, “and yes.”

“Is that not… unsafe?”

“I have you, Stukov, Abathur, and approximately thirty other zerg standing by, ready to defend me. Dehaka is haunting the woods and distracting anything nearby. It’s not really going to get any safer than this.”

“Abathur has been mumbling about the water quality and inspecting the local plantlife. Is this protecting you adequately?”

“Leave him be, Zagara. He’s having fun.”

“Having fun?”

“Enjoying himself.” Kerrigan sits up. “Do I need to teach you that, too?”

Zagara recoils. “No, my queen. I will learn on my own. Your lessons involve Abathur and are painful.”

Kerrigan laughs. “I don’t think I could have him modify you for fun. He’d be mortified if I accused him of enjoying himself.”

Zagara looks confused, so Kerrigan continues, “Look at Stukov. What’s he doing?”

Zagara turns to look at him. “Making a pile of sand.”

“He’s making a  _ sand castle. _ It’s something that terrans do.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun. Fun is when you do just something to do it. If you like doing something, but there isn’t really any other purpose to it other than you enjoying it, that’s fun.”

“I… see,” Zagara said, not seeing.

“Maybe I can show you.” Kerrigan raises her voice. “Stukov! Are you digging a moat?”

“Yes. Every good castle has a moat.”

“Zagara, go put some creep in his moat.”

“Yes, my queen.” Zagara skitters over and looms over the sand castle, making Stukov curl around it protectively.

“Don’t you kick my castle.”

“I’m not going to kick your pile of sand granules.” Zagara raises a hand and motions at the nearest creep tumor, sitting an innocuous fifteen feet away from the sand. It sends out a runner, which rumbles through the sand before bursting out a foot or two from the castle. She clenches her claws, and instead of the runner coalescing into a new tumor, it carefully bends down and starts a steady, gentle pour of liquid creep.

Stukov leans back on his hands. “Well. That’s one use for it. Good thinking.”

Zagara makes a negative motion with her hand once the moat is full, and the creeper retrieves its runner. “The moat is filled, my queen.”

“Good.” Kerrigan settles back to lie down in the sand again. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“It accomplished nothing, and yet, I feel… satisfied.”

“That’s a good first step. You’ll learn fun soon enough.” Kerrigan yawns. “I’m going to do some more relaxing. You keep having fun.”

“Yes, my queen.”

—

“Sir?”

“I really can’t handle any more surprises, Matt,” Raynor groans from the chair he’s been flopped in for several hours.

“You... might have to.”

“This better be good,” he mumbles, rolling over so that he’s no longer pressing his face into the back of the chair. He pushes off from the desk and wheels over to the screen.

“We dispatched several cloaked Banshees down to Zerus’ surface to find out what the zerg are up to, and we, uh, found them?”

Raynor squints.

The screen displays a hive cluster, surrounded by creep, a handful of meters from a beach. There are a few groups of zerglings, some hydralisks, and a few roaches roaming around the hive. A creature, what Raynor presumes to be an unfamiliar variety of zerg that looks like a cross between a slug, a scorpion, and a nuclear missile silo, bends over to seize an aquatic animal in its claws and starts turning it over, pulling at fins and flaps and generally ignoring its struggling. A brood mother stands between the water and the hive, pointing ahead and bouncing a little on her front feet as wave after wave of zerg larvae wriggle forward towards several infested members of a tiny local species. The infested creatures form a line in front of a standard terran-variety sand castle, complete with creep-filled moat, and seem to be following the instructions of an infested terran sitting in the sand, just close enough to the water to have the largest waves barely touch his back. Away from the rest lounges…

Lounges…

Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, lounges in the sand, arms behind her head and one leg crossed over the other. She’s wearing an unbuttoned light blue jacket, sunglasses, and cargo shorts, and has a glass of what looks like zerg lemonade sunken partway into the sand next to her.

Raynor looks at Horner.

Horner looks at Raynor.

“Matt?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this information?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“What are  _ you _ gonna do with it? Assuming that I wasn’t here, of course.”

“...Nothing, I think.”

“Then I guess that’s what we’ll do.”

“I might call Stukov and ask what they’re doing, but I think the answer is obvious.”

“But why  _ Zerus?” _ Raynor holds his head in his hands. “Why  _ right now, _ when  _ we’re _ here for Stettman’s pet project?”

“I could ask, sir.”

Raynor groans. “Fine. Call them. I’m leaving the room.” He staggers out of his chair and out into the doorway, until he’s well out of sight of the camera mounted above the screen. He hesitates, considering leaving completely… then leans on the wall so that he can watch what happens.

Horner raises an eyebrow, but upon being waved at to continue, opens up a list of contacts and selects Alexei Stukov. After a few moments, the infested terran on the beach raises a hand to stop the brood mother’s larva swarm and gets up to pull his tablet out of his bag. He sits back down, then answers the call, a separate window showing his video feed opening up over the contact list.

“Ah, Matthew Horner. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Stukov. I’m calling because it seems that we’re both in orbit of Zerus at the moment.”

“I would not say that I am currently in orbit, but that is reasonable.”

“I was wondering what you’re doing here.”

“Zerus is the birthplace of the zerg. We are zerg. I do not see the disconnect.”

“You must have some purpose beyond that.”

“If we do, that is in the purview of the queen, not myself.”

“Speaking of the queen.” Horner clears his throat, and Raynor shrinks a little further back into the hall. “A few hours ago, we had a class twelve psionic stop by the Hyperion. They snuck in, logged into a computer using James Raynor’s login, printed out a document, took a nail gun, and left. Would you or your queen happen to know anything about that?”

Stukov raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid that I’m not available to discuss actions that may or may not have been undertaken by my queen.”

Horner sighs. “Can you pass the tablet to her, then? I know she’s there with you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He raises his voice. “It could be tricky, getting you an  _ audience _ with the  _ queen…” _

Kerrigan stirs on the beach, sitting up a little and turning to him. Her voice comes through, distant and faint, “Stukov, what are you doing?”

Something in Raynor’s chest tightens, and he finds himself incapable of breathing for a couple of seconds.

“Dissuading someone who wishes to speak with you,  _ my queen.” _

“Who?”

“Matthew Horner of the Hyperion.”

“Oh, for the love of--just give it here, Stukov.”

“Very well.” He gets up and starts heading over.

Raynor slinks back further, heart suddenly pounding haphazardly like the percussion section of a middle school band. He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready to hear her, to see her, to—

Kerrigan takes the tablet from Stukov and turns it towards her, and suddenly it’s all Raynor can do to not slump to the floor, caught between joy that she’s alive, that she looks like she’s doing okay, that she can’t be feeling  _ too _ bad if she’s in  _ sunglasses-- _ and horror at what she is, at what she’s become, at what she’s done to herself. 

“What is it, Matt?”

_ Fuck, _ that sounds like the Sarah he knows.

“Are you… wearing sunglasses?”

“...Yes?”

“Where did you…  _ get _ sunglasses?”

She huffs impatiently. “Is that why you called me?”

“No, I was wondering if you were the one who came on board and used our printer, but—”

“And you’re asking me about the  _ sunglasses?” _

Horner shifts uncomfortably. “Forget it, Kerrigan. Were you the one who appeared onboard the Hyperion a few hours ago?”

“Now what would I do that for?”

“To use our printer, apparently.”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“We don’t know of any other psionics that powerful, you’re in orbit of the planet, and the document that was printed was a bulletin demanding that people stop telling the Queen of Blades to go to therapy.”

Kerrigan lowers her sunglasses to peer over them. “You’re good.”

“Kerrigan…”

“The leviathan doesn’t have a printer. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ask??”

“You’d say no!”

“Then why did you come on board?”

“To get something printed, Matt, we went over this.”

Raynor stifles a stressed laugh.

“I—but—you—”

Kerrigan rolls her eyes and pushes her sunglasses back up. “Did you need anything else?”

Horner fumbles over his words for several seconds before blurting, “Why are you on a  _ beach?” _

“Why aren’t you?” she asks, almost mocking, and hangs up.

Raynor hates the  _ fuck, I love her _ that crosses his mind.

Horner’s shoulders slump and he holds his head in his hands. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbles. “I didn’t get any useful information out of the Zerg.”

“That’s okay, Matt. No one can pry anything out of Sarah Kerrigan if she doesn’t want them to.”

“Truer words have never been spoken, sir.”

—

“What was that, my queen?” Zagara asks.

“Raynor’s boyfriend.” Kerrigan pushes her sunglasses up and lies back in the sand. “He wanted to interrogate me about my computer habits.”

“Why?”

“He’s a nosy bitch, that’s why.”

“Do you think Raynor put him up to it?” Stukov asks, sneakily directing his infested creatures to slink towards Zagara’s larvae.

“Oh, probably.” Kerrigan pretends she does not see it. “I saw him crouching just barely in frame, almost like he believed that I couldn’t see him.”

“He did look rather silly, didn’t he?” Stukov shoots Zagara a furtive glance. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“He really did. Oh, by the way, Zagara?”

She perks up. “Yes, my queen?”

“I think we’re about to find out whether or not you’re a sore loser.”

“What does th—”

Stukov shouts as his infested creatures lunge, and Kerrigan covers her ears to avoid Zagara’s furious shrieking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i hope i got kerrigan's sass right. it's so important to me.


	4. In Which Some Bitch Thinks She's Better Than Kerrigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it's been awhile since my last update. In my defense, it's been a hellish month for me and this chapter is a doozy--over 4k words, about 43% of the fic by itself. Oops.
> 
> This chapter incorporates that "canon-typical violence" tag as well as Raynor's choices during the Wings of Liberty campaign--this fic is written assuming he made every choice that led to fewer deaths of friendly forces, eg. siding with the colonists on Haven and Tosh during the prison break. My reasons for this are mostly because otherwise Dr. Hanson and Tosh are dead, and I would like the option to use as many characters as possible.
> 
> One more thing before we get started on this chapter: a sincere thank you to everyone who has commented so far. It's really what keeps me going, and it means a lot. Thank you.

“My queen,” Izsha says in her specific You’re Going To Have To Do Something voice, “I am receiving a signal indicating that there is another rogue broodmother who refuses to return to the Swarm.”

Kerrigan wishes that she had a spinning office chair just for the drama of it all. She laboriously turns herself around from where she’s sitting on a chitinous ledge in the nerve center, then leans back to look like it totally wasn’t any work before saying, “Where?”

“Near the Terran colony known as Haven.”

“Haven. I’m not familiar.”

“It was recently established, shortly before your accident with the Xel’naga artifact. James Raynor—”

“It’s one of  _ Jim’s _ places? We can’t have it looking like I’m going after his pet projects. He’ll think I’m spiteful.”

Stukov gives her a disbelieving look, which she ignores.

“What do you want us to do, my queen?” Izsha asks, oblivious.

“Set a course for Haven. We’re going to have a  _ talk _ with this broodmother.”

Zagara folds her hands and mumbles something about how she wishes that Kerrigan had been a little more interested in  _ talking _ when  _ she _ was the rogue broodmother.

“Of course, my queen.” Moments later, the leviathan rumbles and begins to move through space.

Kerrigan presses a couple of fingers to her temple and contacts every zerg on the leviathan, saying,  _ “Buckle the fuck up, people. We’re about to warp.” _

She gets dim acknowledgement from the rest of the zerg, then settles in to wait.

“Kerrigan,” says Stukov, and she suppresses a groan.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m bringing a rogue broodmother back into the fold.”

“And?”

“I don’t want people to get hurt?”

“That did not seem to concern you much while we were going after Mengsk.” He sits down, starts to cross his arms, Remembers, and rests his right hand in his lap while allowing the left to just sit beside him. “You were willing to allow great casualties then.”

_ “Dominion _ casualties.”

“You know that a great many innocents died, Kerrigan. Despite your best efforts, they always do.” His left arm pulses a little and the claws on his shoulder flex and curl, tapping against his neck, and Kerrigan can’t get over the fact that every time she talks to Stukov, it feels like it’s a three-person conversation: Kerrigan, Stukov, and Stukov’s Arm, with its presence that almost surpasses that of the man its attached to and  _ fuck, _ she missed what he was saying after that last bit,  _ shit, um— _

“Yeah,” she tries, and he raises an eyebrow. Wrong thing. “I didn’t catch that last bit. What?”

Stukov opens his mouth to say it again, and that’s when they drop into warp.

As soon as they’re out, and the feeling of  _ well that’s not right _ subsides, he starts to try to talk  _ again, _ and Kerrigan holds up a finger to stop him, pressing two fingers of her other hand against her temple again.

_ “Ladies, gentlemen, genderless space bugs, and Dehaka, we have arrived in space near the Terran fringe world known as Haven. Be ready for anything.” _

_ “Essence from Haven?” _ Dehaka questions telepathically.

_ “Absolutely.” _

_ “Will fight. Will collect.” _

Stukov gives Kerrigan an accusing look as she lowers her hand. “You interrupted me on purpose.”

“The first time, no. The second time, yes.”

“You are avoiding your problems.”

“I know.” She smiles sweetly, stands up, and leaves to go get ready.

—

“Bad idea,” Abathur tells her, and she laughs at him.

“How is defending the colonists a bad idea?”

“Would attack defending zerg as readily as attacking zerg. Could not tell difference. Further: gain nothing from defense. Losses for no reason. Bad idea.”

“That’s why I’m asking you to make them blue.”

“Pointless. Zerg coloration coincidental. Additional pigments unnecessary.”

Kerrigan sighs and crosses her arms. “Just do it.”

“Queen of Blades insists?”

“I insist”

Abathur heaves a mighty sigh for a creature who only questionably has lungs. “Very well.”

“And don’t forget about the special project while I’m gone.”

“Will work on project once blue zerg strain developed. Should take little time. Give locations. Will send down hatcheries.”

“Excellent. I’ll have Izsha send you the locations.”

“What’s this I hear about blue zerg?” Stukov pokes his head in, and Kerrigan hisses at him.

“Stop following me around!”

“What?? I’m not! I came to find you after I put on my uniform.” He motions at himself. “I wanted to know where you needed me. It’s not like I followed you all the way here. Getting dressed with  _ this _ monstrosity is a whole production.”

“Fine, fine. Stukov, I want you leading zerg in defense of the colonists, and bring Dehaka with you. Izsha tells me that they’ve been sustaining frequent attacks, and at any sign of aggression from us, they might redouble that in an attempt to take one of Haven’s well-fortified areas. That will also split their forces away from the back, where I’ll be moving in to take them out. Your zerg will be blue to signal to the colonists that they’re on-side, or at least to differentiate them from the zerg already on-world. I don’t want to take losses to the Swarm from the colonists as well as the rogues.”

“I’m going to have to talk to the colonists, aren’t I?” Stukov asks glumly.

“Yep.” Kerrigan pats his good shoulder reassuringly. “You can do it. You’re an adult.”

“An adult monster, perhaps.”

Kerrigan sighs and holds her head in her hands. “I know you have a whole complex about this, but can we please—”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You kind of do.”

“It’s not polite to bring up, Sarah, especially when you have your Jim thing.”

She drops her hands and stares at him, shocked. “I don’t have a—”

“Wasting time,” Abathur interjects.

Kerrigan straightens up. “Fine. We’ll finish this conversation later.”

“I would rather not, but very well. I will prepare for departure.”

“Do.” Kerrigan flares her wings and leaves the room.

—

The operation starts off nice and routine. Izsha finds a nice landing site, they send down a hatchery, Kerrigan pops down there to oversee setup, they get a good group of zerglings and buildings going, then she reaches out to contact the broodmother. She’s done this dozens of times. Why should this be any different?

_ “Rogue broodmother, this is the Queen of Blades. Rejoin the Swarm immediately or your brood will be taken by force.” _

_ “You will be burned,”  _ the broodmother hisses back.  _ “Leave now.” _

_ “That’s not going to happen.” _

_ “You will burn. The Terrans will burn. This world will burn.” _

Kerrigan laughs.  _ “I don’t think so.” _

_ “Burn.” _

_ “Single-minded, aren’t you?” _

The broodmother hisses and pulls away from the contact. Kerrigan lets her go; she has a good enough idea of where she is that she doesn’t need to hold on longer. She orders a batch of larvae to morph into hydralisks and steps over to a spine crawler to survey the landscape.

Haven is a gorgeous planet, Kerrigan will give it that. They are positioned on top of a small rise, partway up a hill, overlooking a valley positioned between vegetation-covered mountains with a river running through the middle. It’s picturesque, and she feels a little bad for landing here and getting creep everywhere. She makes a mental note to pull all Zerg off the planet, creep tumors and all, once she’s done here, and wonders where the hell the broodmother has set up that she can’t see her. She’s nearby, somewhere in the valley, across the river, but her exact location… well. Kerrigan knows enough to get her forces over there, and they’ll uncover the broodmother soon enough. Her best guess is that she’s crammed herself inside one of the mountains, since one of the main settlements on Haven is on just the other side and has been dealing with Zerg attacks, but it’s possible that she’s simply been utilizing a pass or a tunnel out of the valley and is set up elsewhere.

Time will tell. Kerrigan orders a few more drones and sends one of the original drones to morph into a spire. She will, unfortunately, need mutalisks for this if they’re going to be dealing with mountains, even though a mutalisk is as durable as a wet tissue and doesn't have the common sense of one.

She sends a group of zerglings down the slope to scout out the area a little, idly morphing more zerg as materials permit. After a little while of this, she contacts Stukov.

_ “How’s it going?” _

_ “Fuck you,” _ he bites back, and ends the connection.

She blinks.

_ “...Izsha, what’s going on over there?” _

_ “It seems that Stukov and his forces have met heavy resistance in his defense of the colonists, from both sides. He is likely distracted in that regard.” _

_ “Then it looks like we need to get moving.” _ Kerrigan whistles, recalling the zerglings and getting the attention of the Swarm around her. She has the queens start sending out creep tumors, as much as she hates to do it, and leads the zerg down the hill into the valley.

The first few minutes are uneventful. They cover the ground that the zerglings scouted, taking the quickest route down to the river. The zerg crowd around her, zerglings in front with the hydralisks just behind. The mutalisks fly low, to avoid being seen for as long as possible, and one of the queens walks with them while the other focuses on spreading creep down the hill so that reinforcements can catch up more easily. She orders another batch of zerglings to morph into banelings, just in case, and keeps her eyes peeled as they continue.

They’re almost to the river when the ground begins to rumble. Kerrigan has just enough time to jump into the air, wings slamming down to throw her high, before orange-patterned zerg burst from the ground and begin ripping into her forces. Roaches emerge behind them, and she curses, wheeling around to send an arc of electricity through them. Her mutalisks scream and start shooting, followed immediately by the hydralisks, and she notes, with some pride, that the other zerg don’t have any way to deal with fliers.

They dispatch the ambush party without too many losses—mostly zerglings, but those will reconstitute soon enough—and continue on, towards the river. The banelings roll along after them, reminding Kerrigan to order a batch of roaches and some more mutalisks. She doubts that the other broodmother will be short of hydralisks ahead, but she might as well press what advantage she can get right now.

As they reach the river, more hostile zerglings burst out of the ground, and this time, Kerrigan just stays in the air as they are dispatched. As they’re finishing up, however, a group of hydralisks peek out from behind the trees on the other side and start launching spines at them.

_ Clever. _ The fast-moving waters of the river—which is fairly wide,  _ just _ narrow enough for hydralisks to  _ barely _ shoot across—will slow them down significantly, making it easier for the hydralisks to pick them off. They have better cover than Kerrigan’s forces do, and more hydralisks, meaning that in a hydralisk-only battle, they will win, and if mutalisks fly across, they’ll be completely without cover and therefore easy to pick off.

Unfortunately, they didn’t account for Kerrigan. She orders her zerg across and flings herself forward, into the open air above the river. The hydralisks aim at her, but she raises a hand, creating a field that catches every projectile that they fire at her. A couple of them exchange concerned glances—behavior she’s never before seen in hydralisks, this broodmother must have bred more intelligence into them—but they don’t change tactics quickly enough to avoid her redirecting their spines at them. A couple scream and collapse, but the others carry on regardless.

Kerrigan’s mutalisks swoop in behind her, providing covering fire, as she dives towards the hydralisks. She raises a hand and makes a clenching motion, seizing them and lifting them a couple of feet above the ground and out from cover. The mutalisks tear through them easily, aided by her own hydralisks as they poke their heads up from the water. She drops the corpses and lands, turning around to watch her zerg cross. She has a good laugh at the helpless bobbing of the banelings before gently steering them with psionics. She waits for a moment to allow the roaches and extra mutalisks to catch up, before heading deeper into the forest.

They continue in this manner for nearly twenty minutes, fighting off clever ambush parties and bringing in reinforcements as they go, until they begin to spot creep consuming the trees ahead. Kerrigan stops her zerg and squints, trying to pick out what’s ahead, and comes to the conclusion that she’s not going to get anywhere like this. She orders the roaches to burrow and sends them on ahead to scout.

They don’t go far before she determines that this is a pretty standard forward hive cluster, and orders the zerg ahead to take it out. She personally takes aim at the creep tumors as they head in, barreling out of the tree line with lightning already at her fingertips. The area above them opens up as they head out into the infested area, the trees having been withered away, so the mutalisks fly a little higher to take advantage of their wings. Kerrigan stays on the ground to keep out of the line of fire from scattered spore crawlers and hydralisks for now, not really wanting to have to redirect  _ that _ many projectiles.

She unburrows the roaches by the hatchery, having dodged the spore crawlers, and orders them to start destroying it while the rest of her forces catch up. The roaches report an unusual large structure curled nearby, and she tells them to leave it alone for now so that she can investigate it. They acknowledge and start following her orders, and she pays them no further mind, sending the banelings in over the line of zerglings to melt through hostile roaches and zerglings. She begins to advance forward, swarm surging around her as they approach the hydralisks and their zergling reinforcements, before the ground rumbles and something  _ very large _ starts to move behind the hatchery.

Kerrigan has never heard a roach swear before, but she gets the distinct impression that her roaches would very much like to in the instant before the connection cuts off abruptly. Behind the hatchery, a fiery orange glow lights up the creep, and she suddenly has a bad feeling about this.

The broodmother reaches out to her telepathically.  _ “I hope you like my dragolisk,” _ she says nastily, before cutting off again.

_ “...Abathur?” _

_ “Listening.” _

_ “What’s a dragolisk?” _

Abathur’s reply is lost in the furious roar of the zerg that launches itself up into the air, great reptilian wings snapping outward to keep itself aloft. It looks like the old Terran tales of a red dragon, probably fifty feet long with four great clawed limbs, two enormous wings, a horned head, and a lashing, spined tail, although it’s definitely been reimagined in the wake of the zerg. Eyes cover its body, as do pustules that Kerrigan suspects are filled with acid and are ready to burst at the slightest provocation. Its hide is a thick, solid chitinous substance, not overlapping scales like the old myths described. Its tail suddenly splits partway down, revealing a second fanged mouth that screams and splatters the ground with acid even as the beast surges forward, opening its main mouth and showing off the fiery glow in its throat and chest.

Kerrigan flings herself into the air, using her psionics to toss herself twenty feet to the right, screaming telepathically and out loud—old habits die hard—for the zerg to scatter. They do, somewhat, but the dragolisk roars and paints the ground with searing flames. A couple dozen zerg die instantly, the rest escaping with burns that range from mild to so bad that they are still actively on fire. Only the mutalisks escape this punishment, immediately folding their wings to follow the thing and start shooting at it. Kerrigan pushes them into what she hopes is its blind spot and would  _ kill _ for a rifle right now.

_ “Require essence for analysis.” _ Abathur sounds downright  _ giddy, _ for him.

_ “You know what, I’ll do my best.” _ Kerrigan flies after the dragolisk, and nearly screams at how quickly it turns around to make a second pass. Its breath has seared the ground that it hit completely, burning the creep away and leaving ash in its wake, and Kerrigan doesn’t really want to know what that feels like. She pivots left and dives underneath it, flipping around mid-air to launch electricity up to score its underside. It bellows, coughing up a blast of flame from its forward mouth while its tail rains acid down below that splatters the remainder of her hydralisks. She orders more hydralisks and mutalisks to morph back at the hatchery, knowing that they will never be done in time, and flies higher to avoid it lowering its head to find her.

Despite her evasive maneuvers, the dragolisk turns to face her, rising up to her level. Her mutalisks continue to pelt it from behind, but they aren’t overly effective, which is probably why it’s ignoring them. She meets the gaze of the four main eyes on its face, glowing with the same fire that burns in its chest, and wonders what the  _ fuck _ kind of creature could be turned into  _ this _ monstrosity.

“Well aren’t you an ugly motherfucker!” she shouts, and folds her wings as it breathes fire at her. The tip of her tail comes out a little singed, but it’s just spines that will be replaced soon anyway, so she doesn’t mind too much as she swoops underneath it and flips around again, digging her claws into its underside to try and pry some of the chitin off. It shakes itself, roaring, and pustules around her start bursting to shower her with acid. She hisses as it stings, quickly latching onto it tighter and folding her wings to prevent it from melting away her wing membrane. She keeps clawing, bringing her tail and spines on her wings around for good measure to try to get some good tears in.

She manages to cut through the chitin in a few places, revealing the soft flesh underneath, before one of its forelimbs comes down and it wraps its claws around her. She lets out an undignified squeak as it pries her off of its underbelly, lifting her up to look at her again. It bares its teeth and its mouth begins to glow again.

Kerrigan orders the remaining hydralisks to shoot at the dragolisk, and thankfully, they do, nailing the open sores enough to make it recoil and scream, blasting flame harmlessly away from her. She releases every bit of psionic power she has in an electrical tempest, letting out a wave of force that shatters its claws and sends a shock through its body. It howls again, missing a couple of wingbeats and falling a few dozen feet before it catches itself, looking up hatefully at where Kerrigan hovers, glowing bright and defiant.

She ends the storm as quickly as it began, checking on her reinforcements. The dragolisk shakes itself and sets fire to her remaining hydralisks, making her wince. Her backup will be done in just a minute, if they could only reach her in time…

The dragolisk begins to rise after her, and she gets a terrible, crazy idea.

“Hey, you big stupid bus! That bitch teach you how to play tag?”

It roars, and Kerrigan flips around to start flying back to the hive cluster as fast as her wings can carry her.

_ This is so, so stupid. _ It flies after her, wingbeats nearly as loud as her heart pounding in her ears, and she hears it draw breath for another blast of flame. She dives, dropping altitude enough to avoid the worst of it and only gets hit with the wave of heat, then starts climbing again as it descends towards her. She flings herself forward with her recharging psionics to gain a little ground, but it continues to gain on her.

_ “Stukov, any chance of reinforcements?” _

_ “Negative. I am currently fighting a dragon.” _

_ “Oh, great, she’s got two?” _

_ “It’s causing you problems? Surely Mengsk was more trouble than a dragon.” _

_ “Mengsk didn’t breathe fire!” _ Kerrigan dives again, bursting through the canopy as the dragolisk attempts regicide-via-barbeque. The leaves above ignite into a searing golden crown, some falling around her in a shower reminiscent of deadly rose petals or spent rounds from an automatic firearm. She begins to weave between the trees, relying on the visual disruption to slow the dragolisk down because outflying it clearly is not working.

It continues to bellow and roar, letting out puffs of flame every time it sees her. One particular miscalculation on her part leads to her entire back getting a nasty burn, nearly downing her as she screams and loses track of where she’s going, almost slamming into a tree. She barely recovers, but every wingbeat sends lances of howling pain through her entire body, not just her aching flight shoulders.

She really,  _ really _ hopes that the zerg will be ready when she reaches the hive cluster. She orders them into position as they ready, starting another batch that she doesn’t think will be done in time.

Thankfully, the dragolisk has to slow down to watch for her amongst the trees, keeping pace instead of outflying her. She continues to dodge its sight and flame, coming into view just often enough to keep its interest, and lets her psionic energy recharge even as her physical stamina dwindles. Foliage continues to ignite around her, and she’s forced to take shallow breaths to minimize how much she coughs from smoke inhalation, not making her job any easier.

Right as she thinks the dragolisk is about to dive into the forest after her, she realizes that the terrain is rising towards the hive cluster. She stays low, putting on a new burst of speed, right up until they’re about to become level with the structures. She tilts her wings and flaps  _ hard, _ surging upwards and doing her best to cut back on all forward momentum, turning it into  _ up, up, up— _

The dragolisk follows, turning to follow her and rising easily, immediately starting to catch up. It opens its jaws, drawing in breath for a last pennant of fire—

_ “Now, for fuck’s sake! Take it down now!” _

The zerg—hydralisks, mutalisks, and spore crawlers alike—open fire, aiming for its wing membrane and the open wounds on its underbelly. The dragolisk screams, releasing haphazard flame, and Kerrigan folds her wings, dropping through the edges of it and coming out of it slightly singed but still functional. She draws upon the psionic energy of the zerg around her, pulling it into herself, and manifests three great ‘claws’ of force on each side of her with every ounce of energy she can collect. She pushes them forward as she falls, ripping through the wings of the dragolisk and making it scream so loudly that she’s sure that the Terran colonists, miles away, can hear it. She barely manages to spread her abused wings again to catch herself, soaring like a limping dog over the blazing trees. 

The dragolisk howls and desperately flaps its shredded wings, trying to stay airborne, but falls to the ground with an earth-shaking  _ crash _ and a terrible snap as something vital breaks. It thrashes on the ground, screaming and clawing desperately, but it seems stuck on its back and is helpless against the zerg wave that swarms down the hill and over its body.

It goes still long before Kerrigan manages to turn herself around and land at the hive cluster.

She nearly collapses onto the creep, clinging to the wall of the spire and breathing heavily. The queen she left behind to handle creep trots up, chittering in concern and placing her hands all over Kerrigan to figure out how best to heal her. Kerrigan shuts her eyes and allows it, sighing in relief when the queen speeds up her natural regeneration. She has long gotten past how itchy it feels—at this point, it’s just pure relief.

_ “My queen,” _ Izsha interrupts,  _ “we have detected the broodmother leaving Haven with a group of overlords. They are dropping into warp now. Should we pick you up and follow immediately?” _

She wants to say yes. The same kind of vengeful hate that she’s always felt towards people who have hurt her grips at her now, climbing up and infesting her ribs, seizing her lungs and coiling around her heart with white-hot tendrils that constrict any other emotion. She wants this broodmother  _ dead _ for the trouble that she’s put her through.

Kerrigan cracks open her eyes and looks past the queen to the great swaths of flame that, left unchecked, could destroy the entire valley and potentially the settlement on the other side of the mountains. She looks at the creep around her that has choked out the local flora. She thinks of the half-dozen hive clusters that the broodmother must have left in this area alone that, if they aren’t removed, will go right back to causing trouble for the colonists.

She thinks of the Terrans, and how they aren’t prepared to deal with any of that.

_ “No, Izsha. Keep track of where they go. We’ll have to hunt them down some other time.” _ She sighs.  _ “We have cleanup to do. Collect the dragolisk essence for Abathur and send me more mutalisks. I’m going to start training firefighters.” _

_ “Very well, my queen.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I referred to something by the wrong name. The zerg units and buildings tend to have really similar names and it confuses me. :V


	5. In Which Stukov Has A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I don't know about you, but I had a very productive No Write November! (Meaning: between family obligations and 7 papers/final exams, I straight-up did not have time to work on Bulletin like I wanted to. Sorry about that.) I had all but the final scene written by the time November rolled around, but I just wasn't able to work on it and get it finished up until today. Woops. Well, better late than never, right?
> 
> This chapter is objectively better if you read it with the previous chapter fresh in your mind, which is why I'm particularly annoyed about the fact that I'm getting it up late, but... oh well! This chapter's first scene happens simultaneously with the scene from last chapter with Kerrigan in the field.

Where to even  _ begin. _

Maybe the beginning is when Stukov realizes that his birthday passed and he didn’t notice. Or perhaps it’s when he learns about Kerrigan’s terrible device meant to bully him. No, perhaps it was earlier than that, when he was set on fire by a fucking dragon. Or maybe it was when he was shot at by Terran colonists.

No, he decides finally, the beginning of the tale of his terrible day is when Kerrigan tells him to go down to the surface of Haven with blue zerg and fight off waves of  _ hostile _ zerg, all while exposing himself to and talking to Terran colonists. She  _ knows _ how much it bothers him to let people see him—it’s been a hellish process just getting used to letting his therapist and Matthew Horner see him during calls—and it’s worse when they have firearms that they are not afraid to use on zerg.

His first try at approaching the settlement hit hardest by the zerg begins with him shouting, “Terran colonists! We are here to protect you!” and ends with him being shot repeatedly in the torso with rounds he doesn’t care to identify as a queen prys them out of him. 

His second try consists of him peeking out from behind a rock and trying to tell them that he’s here to  _ help, _ God damn you, there’s no need to be so  _ ungrateful, _ but they toss a grenade at him and he decides that that isn’t going to work shortly after throwing it as far as he can in a random direction.

He decides to not go for a third attempt and instead just sets up a defensive line between the creep coming out of the caves in the mountain and the settlement. The hive cluster is fairly well hidden, set back away from the settlement where the colonists won’t accidentally bumble into it and set it on fire, allowing him to focus on keeping the zerg burrowed between the two sides and only leaping out when he spots an enemy. Unfortunately, enemy zerg pop up more and more frequently, and soon he has everything unburrowed the entire time, flagging against the greater numbers already on the planet.

He’s  _ just _ starting to hope that maybe, just  _ maybe, _ he can get some ultralisks up and running when the colonists peek over the ridge and start raining hell down on the battlefield.

He turns around and makes eye contact with an overlord, who gives him what looks like a helpless shrug and peers at the colonists. It points a claw at them and rumbles questioningly.

“No. Our  _ queen _ said that we are to leave them alone.” He pulls the zerg out of the line of fire, pushing them forward into the caves. He flinches at the increased number of casualties reported by the overlords, but it’s better than being shredded from two sides. He decides to ignore that for now, instead checking in with Dehaka’s team.

_ “Dehaka, status report?” _

_ “Much essence in caves. Single hive cluster removed.” _

_ “Good. Can you provide me with some backup? We’re meeting heavy resistance over here.” _

_ “On my way. Will run and collect.” _

_ “Good zerg.” _ He orders more zerg to morph at the hatchery and heads out with the wave that has just finished morphing, figuring that it’s time he got his hands dirty.

Oh, how he longs for the days where that meant something far less literal.

They head into the caves, zerglings leading the way to soak up the worst of the damage with everyone else following. Stukov stays in the back, just behind the hydralisks, to get the best view of what’s going on with as little risk as possible. Immediately, they run into hostiles, who have just finished mopping up the last expedition sent down this particular tunnel. The zerg lunge forward, screaming their way through the tunnel, blue exoskeletons standing out against the purple and orange of their opponents.

A roach bursts up next to Stukov, and as he begins to grab it with the intent to crush it in his left fist, he hears booted footsteps behind him. He has just enough time to look over his shoulder before the colonists open fire, filling him with bullets and making him drop the roach as he leaps into the writhing mass of zerg.

_ “How’s it going?”  _ Kerrigan mocks.

He spits blood and rolls onto his side, extending his arm as quickly as he can to throw one of the Terrans out of the tunnel.  _ “Fuck you,” _ he snaps, bringing his arm back and scrambling to his feet to duck behind the hydralisks, cutting off the connection as an afterthought. He urges the zerg deeper, out of line of sight, and they manage to take minor casualties until the ground begins to shake and the colonists retreat because they aren’t marines and are not willing to take on the half-dozen ultralisks barreling towards the mountains.

Stukov grins to himself and pulls the zerg back towards the entrance, sending the same order to the other groups, peeking outside once he’s in a position to do so. It seems that the colonists have made the wise decision to fall back, closer to their settlement, allowing him to take the zerg back outside and consolidate his forces into a single mass. This has the added benefit of making the enemy zerg less brave: they don’t want to lose the cover advantage, and settle for taking hydralisk pot-shots at them between infrequent waves.

This is, of course, until about ten to fifteen minutes later, at which point the mountain begins to rumble ominously and a fiery glow starts in one of the caves.

“Dehaka, do you have any idea what that is?”

Dehaka tosses aside a zergling and stands up straight, peering up the mountain. “Nothing good. Fire.”

“What zerg uses fire?” Stukov muses, seconds before the zerg-dragon bursts from one of the upper caves and lights the world up gold.

Stukov barely ducks under the worst of the flame, gritting his teeth as his left arm gets seared and his uniform undoubtedly gets badly singed. Getting  _ that _ repaired won’t be easy, damn the beast. He growls under his breath as the overlords under his control report mass deaths, and he looks up at the dragon-monster as it hovers above them, screaming in defiance.

He bolts behind a rock before it gets any ideas about setting him on fire again, and Dehaka quickly scrambles after him. The dragon turns its head and breathes fire at another swath of zerg. Stukov sends orders to the overlords to keep the zerg coming, turning control of the hive cluster over to them temporarily to let him think. He peers around the rock to watch the thing as it flies, staying carefully up in the air. Mutalisks shoot uselessly at it, and a third breath takes out more than half of them immediately.

“No better than tinder,” he mumbles under his breath, then his eyes catch on the caves even with the dragon and, more importantly, above it. He glances at the smallest of the ultralisks, then turns to Dehaka.

“I need you to take your pack, the banelings, and any ultralisks that will fit into the upper caves. I will distract the beast as you do.”

Dehaka squints, then understanding dawns on his face. “Climb up, leap out onto back. Cleave.”

“Smart zerg.” Stukov pats him on the shoulder. “Get going. I’ll hold out here for as long as I can.”

Dehaka chirrups and sprints for one of the caves, his pack immediately disengaging and following him. Stukov relays his orders through the overlords, and the banelings are soon rolling after them. The two smallest ultralisks trundle along behind, the larger ones screaming at the dragon and thrashing their claws uselessly into the air as it hovers above them.

The hydralisks start peeking out of their hiding spots and begin shooting again. The dragon growls and flies over to a mass of them, at which point Stukov relays through the overlords that the zerg should,  _ what’s the phrase that Kerrigan uses? Ah, yes. _

_ “FUCKING SCATTER!” _

The hydralisks dutifully scatter, leaving only a few to be incinerated. More mutalisks fly in, but stay far apart from each other, forcing the beast to target only one or two zerg at a time. Stukov grits his teeth and checks on reinforcements from the overlords: not enough time. He checks Dehaka and is quickly informed that he’ll get there when he gets there.

The dragon dispatches the last of the mutalisks and peers down at one of the ultralisks, clearly contemplating what to do about it, then begins to take a deep breath.

_ We can’t have that. _ Stukov reluctantly bursts out of his hiding place, waving his arms and shouting. “Hey! Over here! Yes, come here!”

The dragon lifts its head and flaps its wings, soaring over to him.

“I did not think of a backup plan!” he announces to no one in particular, and starts running for cover. The hydralisks leap out and begin shooting in tandem as the dragon dives towards him, opening its mouth to incinerate him.

_ “Stukov, any chance of reinforcements?”  _ Kerrigan asks.

Stukov glances over his shoulder.  _ “Negative. I am currently fighting a dragon.” _

_ “Oh, great, she’s got two?”  _ With a scream, two brood lords—when did they get  _ brood lords? _ —fly forward, into the path of the flames, and block the worst of it. Still, enough flame gets through to burn his back, lighting his clothes on fire. Stukov leaps to the side, rolling behind a boulder and gritting his teeth as he desperately tries to pat it out by rubbing his back against the stone.

Stukov remembers Kerrigan, and spits,  _ “It’s causing you problems? Surely Mengsk was more trouble than a dragon.” _

_ “Mengsk didn’t breathe fire!” _ Kerrigan’s connection cuts off abruptly, and despite his frustration with her, Stukov hopes that she’s uninjured.

_ “Organism Stukov,” _ Abathur interjects, and Stukov’s beginning to get a headache.  _ “Request for essence. Wish to examine.” _

_ “If I did not know any better, I would think that this is exciting to you.” _ Stukov bolts from cover to behind another rock as the dragon annihilates a nearby bunch of hydralisks.

_ “Dragolisk is new zerg organism. Potentially useful. Wish to examine.” _

_ “Oh, it’s got a name, does it?” _

_ “Affirmative.” _

_ “Well, I will be sure to send it a named and addressed postcard next time I am somewhere more pleasant.” _ Stukov grits his teeth as he scrapes one of his burns on stone.

_ “Unclear.” _

_ “Call back later.” _ He cuts off the connection, then immediately reaches for Dehaka.  _ “Are you in position yet?” _

_ “Almost. Soon.” _

_ “How soon?” _

_ “Soon.” _

Damn zerg and their lack of standard time units. Stukov huddles behind his boulder and doesn’t risk poking his head out again, knowing that there’s not a damn thing he can do to that dragolisk from the ground. The overlords inform him when the dragolisk takes out one of their ultralisks, but he hears it, too, a  _ whoosh _ of flame and a terrible scream followed by a crash. The other ultralisk is recalled, back towards the hive cluster, but he reverses the order, telling the overlords to have it stay nearby but try to take evasive action, err, as well as an ultralisk can evade anything, that is.

If they lead the dragolisk back to the hive cluster, they’re  _ never _ getting those reinforcements, which are, thankfully, on their way.

_ “In position,”  _ Dehaka informs him.

_ “Overlords, get that ultralisk under the caves.” _

The ultralisk stumbles into position, the dragolisk following without hesitation. It draws a deep breath and glows brightly, chest nearly outshining the sun.

_ “Now, Dehaka! Overlords, send them!” _

_ “We go now!” _ The caves above the dragolisk are immediately filled with zerg. Banelings roll out first, toppling down towards the dragolisk’s back as it’s distracted cooking the ultralisk in its shell. They burst as they strike, making the dragolisk throw its head back and scream. Acid drips down its sides, searing gaps in its chitinous armor. Dehaka and his pack are there before the dragolisk can react, leaping down onto its back and driving claws, fangs, and sickles into exposed flesh. The dragolisk thrashes, trying to get them off of its back, but it fails to do much as its range of motion is limited by its need to stay in the air.

The caverns rumble, then the two smallest ultralisks barrel out of them at top speeds.

Stukov grins to himself as they fall, one landing right between the dragolisk’s shoulders and the other in the center of its back. The ultralisk in front immediately brings its blades down on the dragolisk’s neck, slicing deep and not letting go. The other doesn’t manage to get a grip before their weight and sudden impact knocks the dragolisk from the sky. Dehaka barks and snarls, and the zerg hold on tight as the dragolisk slams into the ground with a terrible  _ crack. _

_ “Overlords!” _ Stukov leaps from his hiding place, barreling towards the downed dragolisk with his claws extended. The zerg reinforcements pop out from behind the rise, and he is soon flanked by zerglings, aberrations, and roaches, all eager to finally get their slashing appendages into this thing. They carefully avoid its front end, which the ultralisks hold down as best they can, and start prying pieces of chitin off, slashing and biting what they can get to as they go. The dragolisk continues to thrash, clawing and beating zerg to death, and one of its wings throws Stukov aside, but it is soon clear that it is incapable of throwing off the weight of three separate ultralisks.

Eventually, there comes a point where its thrashing slows, and then stills as its screams go silent.

Stukov tilts his head back to look at the sky, and allows himself to fall spread-eagle in the dust.

—

After hours of healing wounds, clearing out the last of the broodmother’s remaining forces, packing up zerg both normal and blue, cleaning up creep, and deconstructing hive clusters, Stukov finds himself dragging his exhausted carcass through the leviathan down to the evolution pit.  _ Just one more stop, _ he reasons to himself.  _ Check on Abathur’s dragolisk progress, then go to sleep for a week. Simple. One step. I just want to know. _

He should have known that it couldn’t be that easy.

He peeks into the evolution pit and squints as he sees Abathur off to the side, fiddling with some kind of… box? Contraption? It looks like a black-and-green fleshy shower curtain wrapped into a vaguely rectangular shape, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it or how it relates to the dragolisk sequencing. “Abathur, what are you doing?”

Abathur recoils a bit in surprise, then turns around, folding his hands. “Queen’s special project. Working on while waiting for sequencing process. More efficient to do two things at once.”

“A special project?” Stukov steps into the room and right up to it. He puts a hand on it, and it’s solid, but he finds that there’s what amounts to a hinged door on one side with a biological lock that can only be opened from the outside. “What  _ is _ the queen’s ‘special project,’ hmm?”

“Russian Wriggler.”

“Russian-- _ what?” _

“Russian Wriggler, requested by Queen of Blades. Function: for use when organism Stukov is ‘naughty.’”

“Number one, did you just say naughty? Number two, were those air quotes? Who taught you that?”

“Yes. Yes. Queen of Blades.”

“Number three,  _ Russian Wriggler?” _

“Affirmative.”

“What—I don’t—” Stukov holds his head in his right hand. “I don’t suppose it  _ wriggles?” _

“Oscillates when activated.”

Footsteps draw Stukov’s attention, and he whips around in time to see Kerrigan, halfway through saying, “Abathur, how’s the—oh, Stukov.”

“Oh, Kerrigan, so we are  _ bullying _ me now? Bullying the old man?”

“What? No, I—”

“This  _ Russian Wriggler! _ You are going to wriggle me? Sixty years old, and you’re going to  _ WRIGGLE _ me??”

“You weren’t supposed to find out—wait, you’re  _ sixty?” _

“This is elder abuse, Sarah Kerrigan!”

“Wait wait wait, stop stop stop.” She holds up her hands in a ‘peace’ gesture. “You’re  _ sixty?” _

“I am flattered by your disbelief but offended at your audacity. To wriggle  _ me! _ Alexei Stukov!”

“What the fuck?”

“Well, I believe I am closer to my late fifties rather than sixty, but yes, I am older than you apparently thought, and here you were, going to—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t like that I was going to wriggle you. It was mostly for a joke because you won’t stop trying to make me go to therapy.”

“So you chose to WRIGGLE ME?”

“What the fuck is it with you and being wriggled?? What’s the big fucking deal?”

Abathur sighs. “Impossible to understand. Returning to sequencing.” He inches off to the other side of the evolution pit.

“I DON’T WANT TO BE WRIGGLED, KERRIGAN!”

“Okay, okay, geez! I won’t fucking wriggle you!” Stukov has never seen Kerrigan look this lost, and he grins internally.  _ Good. Know that I can be as irrational as you. Two can play at your game, and I have been a big bitch for longer than you have been alive. _

“See to it that you don’t.”

“Great. I won’t. Did you need Abathur for something, or…”

“I was checking on the dragolisk progress, but if you’re here to do that, I am going to bed. I have had a long, exhausting day.”

“No fucking kidding.” Kerrigan steps past him, pausing briefly to pat his shoulder. “Get some rest. You did good out there.”

“Thank you. I will.” Stukov lets her go, and heads out, himself.

His exhaustion comes pounding back once he’s outside of the evolution pit, which he expected, and he fights it off long enough to drag himself back to his room. He flicks open his door with a thought—thankfully they’ve had it calibrated to his reduced psionic capacity—and collapses facefirst onto his bed.

As an afterthought, he pulls out his tablet and flicks over to the Earth calendar, to check what day and year it is by now. After all, he’s had a crazy… few years? He’s not even sure.

The good news is that he’s fifty-eight, not sixty.

The bad news is that it’s June 17th, and he unknowingly turned fifty-eight on the 9th.

He drops his tablet on the floor, presses his face into his pillow, and yells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my friend Screeb for the idea for the Russian Wriggler and the inspiration for some of the dialogue in that scene. I nearly passed out laughing when she first brought it up.
> 
> Anyway, on the topic of Stukov, two things: one, if I'm getting his age and the years messed up, woops. The wiki's a little hard for me to read right and there's some discrepancies in that anyway, so, you'll just have to deal with my inability to do math. I'm gay. You can't expect me to do math. And, two: I've given him reduced psionic capability and difficulty in directly controlling the zerg, because it makes sense to me. He can communicate with nearby zerg and any zerg that are particularly intelligent. He can control small groups, or groups of smaller, simpler things (eg. infested animals), but any large groups or overly complicated zerg he needs to replay orders to through overlords. I did this because he wasn't a psionic human before he got infested, unlike Kerrigan, so it seemed weird to me that he'd be as good at handling the zerg as she is, especially since he got cut off from the hivemind proper. He's having to reach out and touch the hivemind, which is already taking up most of his zerg-given psionic power. Essentially, he can function just fine if he has overlords to delegate to, it just takes a couple seconds longer for his orders to reach the zerg than Kerrigan's do.
> 
> I originally described this by saying that Stukov is "FAR more reliant [on overlords] than Kerrigan is: she directly just goes 'alright zerglings let's get this bread' because she's, uh, psionically amazing," which I thought was funny enough to share. :p


End file.
